


what's a prayer (to a death wish)

by Kayndred



Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: Bloodplay, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drug Use, Febuwhump 2021, Febuwhump day 1, I guess? Is it masturbation if it’s the ghost in your head?, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Knifeplay, Light Bondage, Masturbation, Mind Control, Murder-Suicide, Mutual Non-Con, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Nonbinary Character, Orgy, Other, Sex Toys, Stabbing, Unprotected Sex, do not copy to another site, nonbinary V (Cyberpunk2077)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:35:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28761150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kayndred/pseuds/Kayndred
Summary: "Goodnight, Samurai."
Relationships: Johnny Silverhand/V
Kudos: 5





	what's a prayer (to a death wish)

**Author's Note:**

> This is grim. Not nice. Sad, a little, but overall Not A Good Time. Let me know if I've missed anything in tags.
> 
> Title from YOU SO DONE by Noga Erez

Static lances through their head, news feed fizzing out in front of them.

Them, plural?

A rough hand, cold, slides across their chest. They hiss - gasp.

_Yeah, them._

V bites their tongue, arching when metal pinches chilled skin.

Fuck.

❈

V starts losing time in snatches.

At first they think it’s because they’re getting absolutely trashed reliving Johnny’s ‘glory days’. They see Vik more times in that first month than they have in years, check for all manner of viruses.

“Going hard,” Johnny murmurs against the back of their neck, bottle of Ab-Synth in one hand, joint in the other. There are joytoys, two, leaning over their sprawl on the bed, kissing, lazily. The smoke burns V’s - their - lungs, and when V breathes out it comes out of Johnny’s nose, over their shoulder, down their chest. It shines like real pearls in the uneven neon.

“Who knows how long we’ve got?” V says instead looking side-eye at him. The alcohol burns too. 

“C’mere, girls,” V says, taking another draw before guiding one of them forward. V lets her tongue fuck their mouth, smoke escaping their wet lips while V strokes the nipple of the other girl. 

They end up between them, eating on girl out while the other thrusts into them, both hands on their hips. Johnny’s cold fingers stroke down their spine, disappear between their legs, and V goes dark.

❈

When they come back on it’s the same room, more joytoys, a new nipple in their mouth and a male joy toy bouncing in their lap while V is speared from behind. This time, they finish as themselves. 

❈

V smokes more, now. Snorts, some, but mostly invests in cigarettes. After the two weeks of debauchery, V goes back to work. Mostly for Wakako and Regina, or against the Tyger Claws, because sometimes they can kill all but one and drag the survivor into some absolutely brutal hatefucking before V has to kill them. They never lose time here. 

No, it’s when V’s smoking, after, breathing deep, that they blink and - 

\- wake up at home, message from Wakako about a closed contract.

❈

When V wakes up face down on a concrete floor with a knife in their shoulder and a crowd screaming around them, they know something is wrong.

❈

“Johnny,” they say, almost stern, their own eyes glaring out from the mirror. “Johnny, tell me what the fuck you’re doing.”

He doesn’t answer.

❈

They forget which hand is dominant mid fire-fight and almost take a slug to the neck if not for Johnny dragging them to the floor. 

“Johnny - I can’t - I,” they gasp, staring at their hands.

“Fuck, now is really not the time,” he growls from in front of them, ducked behind a car.

“Just,” V gasps, and grabs Johnny by the nape to crash their mouths together.

Darkness.

❈

Their hand, washing blood off in a derelict sink. 

Another orgy, V’s mouth and ass full, a body writhing beneath them. Hours later, at home, their wrists and ankles are red from being bound. Johnny’s hands trace over their body, again, leaving sparks in his wake. The edge of a blade in one hand leaves lines of broken skin, blood beading in perfect spheres. They come with Johnny inside them and the tip of the knife slid into the skin over their ribs. 

❈

Then they stop losing tiem for a while, and maybe that’s worse.

The transition is so seamless - inhale, exhale - that V barely notices the lack of control only when their body turns left instead of right down the street.

They watch Johnny walk around in their - singular - body, slowly realizing that assumption no longer appeared true.

There was a routine, a sequence - food, booze, drugs, sex. Always in that order. The parts might change - pizza, sushi, any alcohol, joints or blow mostly, one, four, toys, bondage, orgies. Sometimes he wakes them up after, in the middle of sleeping bodies, warmed by their partners.

Sometimes he rolls onto the closest body for a quickie, sometimes he just gets up, empties their pockets on a table, takes a drag of whatever’s still smoking, smokes a line, and leaves.

❈

“We’re splitting weeks,” V says from the couch, flipping through the news. Mostly sober for once. They’re starting to wonder if the reason no one sticks to them is Johnny. How many chances had there been during the whole mess? So fucking many, but the feeling of Johnny at their back had kept their mouth shut. 

“Whatever you want, champ,” he drawls, arm draping across their shoulders. His beard scratches their cheek, and his tongue touches their skin at the same time the knife appears at their throat. Their breath hitches, metal fingers sliding beneath their shirt.

❈

It works, for awhile.

Two months.

And then V wakes up in an alley but doesn’t _really_ wake up. They feel like they’re in the driver’s seat, but every step lags. They stumble. Fall.

Darkness.

❈

“What was that?” they ask, looking at their eyes in the mirror. Johnny is behind them, leaning on the wall. He looks impassive, but the set of his shoulders and mouth is unhappy - uncertain. The light from the bathroom glares off his shades.

V’s learned him, too.

“I don’t know.”

❈

That’s when the blurring starts. Not the flawless transition of Johnny taking over. Every action is a struggle, their body fighting to go in some uncertain direction. 

❈

More and more they stay in. Johnny fucks them - they fuck Johnny. They call joytoys, grow a stash. But it’s less often, all of it. V has a growing number of thin scars mapping their skin, a growing number of knives and a growing number of sex toys.

❈

“Shh,” he presses a finger against their gag.

“Thought you’d like these,” the handcuffs are neon pink.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, hand spread over V’s ass as he bottoms out.

“So good at this,” he says, the blade of his new knife pressed against their thigh. 

❈

A rough hand, cold, slides across their chest. They hiss - gasp. Metal pinches skin at the same time as the knife slides carefully into their side. Every breath and shift in Johnny’s lap has the blade moving in their side. His flesh hand strokes across their throat, tilting them back against his shoulder.

“Shh,” he says. His lips brush their cheek. He flexes his hips, his cock, the knife, V’s ribcage all hitch. “That’s right.” 

His fingers stroke the arch of their throat, the metal sliding to run along the stretch where they join. “Just relax.” 

His voice is so soft. The flexing has turned into a rhythm, and V’s on fire, orgasm building with each rolling thrust.

“Good night, Samurai.” 


End file.
